


And Match

by PrincessPestilence



Category: Fortnite (Video Game), Fortnite Battle Royale
Genre: Crack, F/M, Purple Prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:34:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22966252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessPestilence/pseuds/PrincessPestilence
Summary: You've just got a high kill solo victory in Fortnite Battle Royale, but in a surprising turn of events, it turns out You are the prize.
Relationships: Jonesy/Player, Jonesy/Reader
Kudos: 7





	And Match

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chad/gifts).



> Written for/Commissioned by Chad, who requested Fortnite purple prose ft the euphemism "inverted manhood", and stated, "the cringiest way to write romance is to be a man writing POV of a lady", so that's what I went for. 
> 
> Edited by Grammarly bc I will be getting progressively drunker as I write this.
> 
> Disclaimer: I've literally never played Fortnite in my life. All my information came from a quick google search and [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mcLtsR0bhzY) video. If anything is glaringly wrong, uhh, let me know, I guess. 
> 
> Enjoy the silliness.

"Fuck yes!" you shriek, falling back onto the plush, purple microfiber of your memory foam Chill Bag. On-screen, Jonesy stood in the wreckage of Tilted Towers, broken glass littering the asphalt. 

You've been working through this gameplay for weeks now, and finally, your hard work has paid off with a #1 victory. You originally intended to play a badass female character to reflect yourself, but you thought that a male skin might give you an advantage this go around, having come short in all your previous attempts. ' _Plus',_ you thought, _'a little eye candy couldn't hurt.'_

Suddenly, you felt a strange tingling in your limbs, spreading inward. ' _Oh shit, am I having a heart attack?'._ It was the strange sensation of your whole body becoming static, and for an instant, even your vision snowed out, ears ringing. 

As the world slowly returns to clarity, you noticed that you were no longer in your bedroom. In fact, you were sitting in the middle of a road, gravel and glass digging into the petal-soft skin of your small hands and thick thighs. 

"What the fuck...?" you wonder aloud, looking around yourself, stunned and confused, too startled by the sudden transition to really be scared, yet. 

Then you notice a tall shadow fall over you. You tense in fright, ready to vault up and run, but before you can move, you hear a smooth, deep voice say, "Hey... you all right?"

Twisting around, you find yourself eye-to-... knees. Knees encased in robin's egg blue nylon track bottoms tucked into a pair of long-tongued sneakers. You tilt your head up, eyes caressing thick muscled thighs, narrow waist, over a broad chest covered in a windbreaker matching the nylon pants. Thick veined neck lovingly nuzzled by luscious blonde hair. Soon enough your rich chocolate brown eyes meet concerned jewel blue, a pair of runner's goggles pushed up over a blue and yellow headband. 

It was Jonesy, in the Mullet Marauder skin you'd picked out for giggles. But suddenly, having him in front of you, the outfit wasn't so ridiculous after all. It was actually... kind of sexy. 

"J- Jonesy?" you squeak in disbelieving bemusement. 

"That's me," he confirms, flashing you a broad, boyish smile. Under the fear and confusion, your heart skips a beat. 

You take his proffered hand and allow him to haul you up, squealing in surprise as he seems to lift you like you're nothing, even though you actually weigh 115 pounds. 

It's only once you're standing, head coming up to Jonesy's (can it really be him?) chiselled jaw, that you snap back to yourself. You blush furiously, cheeks pinkening in a cute way that would embarrass you if you could see it. You brush the dirt and gravel off your golden-tanned skin, free of tan-lines, although you never take any particular care to get an even tan. In reality, it's just your regular outdoor lifestyle, and the fact that you don't bother with modest clothes, uncaring if it makes you seem like a slut, it's hot, okay?! A lot of gamer girls like you tend to spend all their time indoors and end up with a pasty complexion because of it, but you like to split your time between gaming and playing b-ball with the boys in your neighbourhood. 

Once the dirt is free from your thighs and large, round butt (no amount of exercise can seem to shrink the fat there, much to your chagrin), you wrap your arms around your 32-inch waist, bracketed on either side by wide hips and an embarrassingly full bust covered in a thin black Rick and Morty tank top (a lot of girls don't like the show, but you find it poignant and insightful), the edges of your skull covered purple bra peaking out the top where the fabric of your tank failed to cover your whole chest. The way Jonesy was looking at you made you nervous, although you tried to hide it. He was looking at you like you were some kind of goddess, instead of a messy gamer chick in shorts and a ratty tank top. 

Actually, on second thought... He was looking less like a guy looking at a beautiful woman, and more like a dog looking at a fresh, bloody steak.

"What are you looking at?!" you demand.

Jonesy scratches the back of his neck, a self-deprecating chuckle sounding in the eerily silent city block. "Sorry. It's just been a while since I saw a woman I wasn't trying to kill. You're kind of beautiful, you know." You didn't know about that. You looked pretty average, in your opinion. Shyly, you brushed your long, silky brown hair over your shoulder, nervously twisting it into a side braid. 

Scowling, you brush off the compliment and get back to the more important matter. "How am I _here_?! This is Tilted Towers, right? In Fortnite?" 

Jonesy's blond head bobs in affirmation, and you ejaculate in frustrated worry, "How?! How is that possible?!" Your character tilts his head in curious concern as if he doesn't understand how you don't understand. 

"I won," he says simply as if that explains anything. 

"So?!" 

"So..." he drawls, "you're my prize."

It's as if the world comes crashing down around you; like you've been just gone through the twister a second time. "I- I'm your what?"

The predatory look increases tenfold as he takes a step towards you, crowding up against you, forcing you to bring your arms down just to give yourself some space between your full chest and his muscled pecs. 

His large, rough, warm palm cradles your chin, tilting your head up to look him in the eyes. "Whenever I win," he elaborates, "I get to choose a prize. This time, I chose you." 

You shake your head, unnerved. "So you can just... pull people into the game whenever you want?!"

Jonesy shakes his head rapidly, blond locks bouncing around his head. "No, no! It's a once-in-a-lifetime option. Kind of like a prize kiosk: only one a-piece. You're the only one I've really wanted enough to bring you in with me." 

You can't believe someone would want you enough to do that. How could he? A plain nerdy girl like you? 

Jonesy runs his palm down your long neck, tugging down the top of your tank top, exposing your be-skulled bra. "Let me take my prize?" he asks, and you feel the heat pooling in your snatch. You can't deny him. You don't want to.

You nod.

Jonesy grins like a shark and lifts you into his bulging arms. You yelp, wrapping your arms and legs around him as he steadies you with a hand cupping your butt, thick fingers digging into the crease between your cheeks. 

He takes you off the road to a patch of soft, lush grass, miraculously pristine and free of debris or gore. 

He lays you down on the verdant carpet, kneeling between your sunkissed thighs. Then, for the first time, he kisses you.

His lips are thick and plush and he tastes delicious. His hair falls down in a curtain around your face, and you inhale the scent of him, musk and sweat and spice, and something unique that must be his real scent. He thrusts his tongue between your pink lips, twisting his tongue around yours and fucking your mouth in an obscene parody of what he's sure to do to your body.

You can feel him hard, pressed up against your hot, wet, muff, the shape of him apparent even through both of your clothes. 

He pulls his mouth away, a strand of saliva connecting your lips like the red string of fate in Chinese lore. He rucks up your tank top and you take over, pulling it over your head and tossing it to the side as he brings his hands around to unclasp your push up bra. Once the confining underwear is removed, your breasts spring out, perfectly round and perky, almost too big for his large palms to encase. His rough, weapon-calloused fingers squeeze and mould your twins, brutally teasing your hard, pink rosebuds as you squirm desperately out of your tight-fitting denim shorts, taking down the matching purple panties, skulls grinning in perverse approval. 

Jonesy pulls back, shrugging off his purple windbreaker before reaching behind his head to tug off his alluringly sweat-soaked white tee. 

"God, you're gorgeous," he breathes, in awe at your body, but you think that line should belong to you, his torso perfectly sculpted, like Michelangelo's David, if he hit the gym. You tense as a thick, calloused thumb spreads the fat lips of your velvet glove. "Have you ever had a man before?"

You glare, "Of course I have! I'm an adult! I'm not a virgin!" As if to prove it, you reach your hand between your bodies and grope his thickness through his pants, body clenching in anticipation as you picture taking his enormous package into your inverted manhood. 

You feel a thrill of accomplishment when he gasps, thrusting involuntarily into your hand. 

Once he gets himself back under control, he looks at you with a challenge in his eye. "All right, little girl," he says, "let's see what you've got."

Almost too fasts for you to process, his track bottoms are shucked around his knees, corded thighs braced to hold you open for him. You moan, the sound echoing in the dead, empty space. It sounds shameless. It turns you on even more.

With a hand to brace himself, he pushes his thick, pulsing tool into your dripping clunge. You scream, really scream, as he penetrates you, the overwhelming feeling of him filling you up nearly orgasmic in itself, but then he starts to move and you can feel the Earth (is this still Earth?) shift. 

Immediately he sets up a brutal pace, his weapon pistoning in and out of you ruthlessly, your breasts bouncing violently in the open air. It felt dirty to be doing this out in the open, in public, although you knew everyone around was long dead by now. Still, the feeling of exhibition only ratcheted you up higher, bringing you closer and closer to release. 

With a powerful grunt, sweat dripping down his muscled torso, Jonesy lifts your legs around his neck, bending you at the waist as he splits you open from the inside, quartering you. Impossibly, he seems to be moving faster, hips ramming at breakneck speed while still managing to impale you fully on every thrust, balls slapping scandalously loudly against your smooth, firm ass.

The position has him crashing directly into your g-spot, pelvis stimulating your sensitized love button, and suddenly everything is just too much for you.

For the second time tonight, you white out completely. From far away you hear the deep grunting as Jonesy crests the peak, feels distantly as he pulls out, painting your tummy in his hot, white jissom. You wonder, nonsensically, if a man could draw a happy face on a woman that way, like urine in the snow. 

Jonesy pulls out, picking you up, princess-style this time, and depositing you on the soft mattress.

Wait.

Mattress?

Blinking owlishly, you look around, and, yes. You're back in your bedroom again, only this time, Jonesy is here with you. You twist your body to glance at the TV, and there, you see a messy pile of your clothes just to the far left of the screen, almost off-frame. All that's missing is Jonesy's nylon track bottoms, now pooled on the floor of your bedroom, shucked off when he brought the two of you to your room.

"We're... back?" you say, dumbly.

Jonesy nods, looking around with wide-eyed curiosity. "Yeah..." he says in amazement. "I've never been to the real world. I thought I'd be in that game forever."

You look up at him shyly, brushing the long strands of his mullet behind his ears, smiling as he nuzzles his cheek into your palm. "I guess... true freedom was the real prize... it was just waiting for you to choose it."

Jonesy smiled, catching your hand in his own and kissing your fingers. "It was waiting for me to choose you," he corrected.

On screen, the "#1 Victory Royale" announcement circles an empty city street, your victor pressing his lips to his prize.


End file.
